Samsara
by AdAbolendam
Summary: "All this has happened before and all this will happen again." –Scrolls of Pythia, Battlestar Galactica
1. The Child

**Content:** Before the Sokovia Accords, before S.H.I.E.L.D., even before the S.S.R., the men and women we know as the Agents of SHIELD lived many lives. They wore different faces, walked in foreign lands, and spoke forgotten languages, but even over thousands of years, some things never changed.

 **Disclaimer:** This story strays outside of the purview of the MCU, but the characters and mytharc are still very much the property of Marvel.

* * *

The Great Rift Valley (c. 6000 BCE)

" _Something in your eyes took a thousand years to get here." -Iris, U2_

In the beginning, there were two.

The man and the woman lived on a grassy plain that ended in an abrupt drop where a wide canyon began. In those years, the rains fell for months on end when the sun was at its hottest. When the air cooled, the rains ceased, and the savanna erupted in a spectrum of color. Herds and flocks of wildlife swarmed across the plateau to graze and quench their thirst in the cool waters of the flood plain.

The two hunted side-by-side, the woman charging fearlessly into the midst, the man close behind, watching their flank for predators.

When the sun set in the evening, they rested by the fire, eyes trained upward on the endless canopy of stars. The man made up stories about the ancestors and gods that lived in the light-flecked darkness of the heavens. The woman listened quietly with a grin on her face.

The child was born in the year that the rains stopped falling. She took her first shaky steps gripping her mother's hands as her father watched with unconcealed concern. The air was cool again and the herds had not returned.

When the girl was three, she sat on her father's shoulders as the family began their long journey to the north. His heavy steps jolted her jaw and made her teeth rattle as she rested her chin on his head. The man scolded her and told her to sit up straight. The woman offered to carry the girl, but the man refused. He rubbed the bruise forming on the crown of his head and readjusted the toddler on his shoulders.

They made their new home along a river.

The rains no longer fell, but the streams were thick with perch and catfish, and berries grew along the banks. The girl shrieked when she caught the slippery fish in her hands and the woman smiled with pride.

That was the year that the girl disappeared.

When the cool winds blew in from the north, huge, grey birds filled the sky. The massive beasts were wreathed in flame and shrieked as they soared overhead. The girl ran to her father and he gathered her in his arms. The woman and man looked at each other in fear as the man whispered words of comfort to his daughter.

The hunters arrived soon after. The family hid in the brush watching as hulking, blue-skinned monsters stalked along the riverbank, their dark eyes alert and hungry.

They came upon the family in the night. A pair of them wrenched the sleeping child from the arms of her father. The woman cried out and launched herself at the assailants, stabbing one between the shoulders with a spear-point. The giant yelled at her in a guttural tongue and threw her to the ground.

The man stalked the kidnappers for two days, until they came to a clearing on the riverbank. He watched in despair as they approached one of the massive birds resting on the ground. An opening appeared in the belly of the bird and the hunters carried his daughter inside. As the bird took to the sky, the man could only stare helplessly as his girl flew away forever.

The woman refused to be consoled when he told her what had happened. In the morning, she gathered her spear and set off in the direction that the bird had vanished. He watched her figure grow smaller as she approached the horizon. When she was nothing more than a dark speck against the glare of the rising sun, he rocked to his feet and set out after her.


	2. The Boy, Part I

**Content:** In which we fast-forward a few thousand years...

* * *

The Silk Road, Shule (c. 300 BCE)

" _The souls come back together. Different, but always together." –The Field Where I Died, The X-Files_

Shule was a dusty merchant town marked by a cluster of stone houses and tents that barely stood out against the dun-colored sands of the Taklamakan Desert. The denizens of the Silk Road outpost wore permanent frowns carved into faces that were weather-beaten by the sun and wind.

To Lihua, it looked like paradise.

The twelve-year-old girl had spent the better part of the past month on the back of an ill-tempered camel that was completely unresponsive to her impatient prods and nudges. She often found herself trailing far behind the rest of the caravan. Just as she would resign herself to being left behind and captured by interlopers, her father would trot up with an insufferable grin and give the camel a firm slap on the rear, sending her galloping to the front of the line.

A full month of being jostled, sunburnt, thirsty and tired was more than enough for Lihua. She had begged to come with her parents on this journey and had regretted it as soon as she saw her hometown disappear behind her in the distance. Not that she would ever admit it.

She stifled a groan as her father helped her off her mount.

"Papa," she complained. "I can do it myself!"

"I know," he replied. "Sometimes fathers like to feel useful though."

"Tian!" Came her mother's voice. "We still have four hours before sundown. If we unpack now, we can start selling before the market closes."

Tian raised his eyebrows at his daughter.

"You heard the lady," he said. "Help your mother out."

Lihua's face was the picture of disappointment. This was her first time seeing any village that wasn't her own. She wanted to explore!

"There will be time to look around later," Tian assured her, sensing her frustration. "We'll be here for at least a week."

Lihua unpacked the bundles of cargo and laid the items out on a rug under the shade of a linen sheet, following her mother's careful instructions.

"Fabrics go towards the back. Metals and jewelry go at the front," Mai-Lin dictated.

"Why?" Lihua asked.

"Because we can ask for more for the jewelry than the fabric," her mother replied. "And jewelry attracts customers."

"Why?"

"I don't know, Li," Mai-Lin said with a sigh. "People like shiny things."

Her mother kept talking, but something had caught Lihua's eye.

A boy with dark, messy hair, and the bluest eyes she had ever seen, was watching her from across the market thoroughfare. When he caught her looking at him, he scowled at her and ducked into the tent behind him.

"…just watch me the first time, and maybe later in the week we can—Li? Lihua! Are you listening?"

"Uh-huh," she replied. " 'Shiny.' I heard you, mama."

Mai-Lin rolled her eyes and rearranged a display of lamps that Lihua had knocked over.

Lihua watched with waning interest over the next few hours as her mother and father negotiated and argued with one customer after another, exchanging bolts of fabric and jewelry for coins, coffee, sacks of spices and even a couple of goats. The trick of selling, she learned, was to feign complete disinterest in whatever the customer was trying to barter, until they turned to walk away. Then to finally cave in to the deal amidst protests that the exchange was going to leave their family destitute.

Lihua burst out laughing the first time her father used that line. He was one of the wealthiest merchants in Jushi. Mai-Lin shot her a look that could have curdled milk, and Lihua resigned herself to being silent while customers were around.

There were plenty of other things to hold her attention.

Shule's market was smaller than the one at her hometown, but the goods were so much more exotic. The omnipresent enameled lacquer-ware, bronze and jade statuary of Junshi was replaced with sculptures in white marble and alabaster, gold and feathered jewelry, and fruits and nuts of every shape and size. Several traders had same broad-cheeked faces and almond-shaped eyes of her family, but the people of Shule were darker, with large noses and pale, wide eyes.

And then there was the boy.

She spotted him again, darting in-between the canvas stalls, talking and laughing with the vendors. He always seemed to be watching her out of the corner of his eye. Lihua began to feel as if it was all a performance for her benefit.

Hours passed and the sun hung low in the sky, casting shadows over the marketplace. The boy ambled back to the tent across from Lihua's rug. He seemed to hesitate at the entrance and chanced a glance in her direction.

"Well, I think that's going to be as much business as we can do for the day," Tian announced loudly.

The boy's shoulders slumped and he ducked inside of the tent.

Lihua spotted him again at the bonfire that night.

Several of the merchants gathered together at the edge of the oasis to eat and share stories of their travels. Lihua blushed at her father's loud laughter, fueled by one too many draughts of the strong liquor the men passed between them. Mai-Lin rolled her eyes and fought a smile when Tian kissed her firmly on the mouth in front of the crowd.

"Give me that," Mai-Lin demanded, grabbing the bottle from him.

To the mixed delight and horror of the on-lookers, she lifted the drink to her lips and swallowed the remainder of the contents in three gulps.

"If you're going to keep embarrassing me, I need to be good and drunk too," she declared.

The crowd applauded and hooted at the audacity of the tiny woman.

Lihua spied the boy a few seats away from her, watching her and her family with fascination. In the warm glow of the fire, he seemed less nervous than he had before. With a belly full of food and the long journey behind her, Lihua was happy and relaxed enough to risk a smile in his direction. After a long moment, he met her grin with his own.

Lihua leaned against her mother's knee and listened as a merchant with a dark face and shining, black eyes told a legend from his home-country.

"In the early days of man," he began. "Before the sands of the deserts blew across the jungles and plains, the gods came to earth. They flew in chariots made of metal that tore the sky apart with thunder and fire."

The crowd listened, captivated, but Lihua squirmed in her seat. Suddenly, the bonfire seemed too warm. She was starting to sweat.

"To the people of earth, the gods sent a legion of blue angels."

 _Not angels,_ Lihua thought. _They weren't angels._

"The angels came among the people and to those they deemed worthy, they bequeathed a special gift. Those that were chosen were fashioned into stone, like the great gods of the West. If the chosen were pure of heart and steady in courage, they were given the power to break free of the stone, and obtained the powers of the gods…"

Lihua was frozen, unable to move or breathe.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** **"Shule" was the Indo European name for Kashgar, a trading hub on the Silk Road in modern-day western China. By the time the Han Chinese conquered it, it was pretty large. This takes place c. 300 BCE, so it would have been smaller and mostly occupied by the Indo European people who spoke Tocharian.**

 **(History is kind of my thing so I have a compulsion to footnote these things.)**


	3. The Boy, Part II

_Fashioned into stone._

Something warm nudged at her knee and she gasped at the contact. The blue-eyed boy looked up at her and muttered something in a language she did not understand.

"I—I don't speak that," she said.

"Are… you feeling alright?" He tried again.

"Um, not really," she admitted. "I feel a little sick."

"Maybe the bonfire…?" he gestured, losing the words. "You will walk with me instead?"

Lihua looked over at her parents who were half-asleep and leaning on each other.

"Mama, I'm going to go for a walk," she said.

Mai-Lin looked up sharply.

"Don't go too far, Li," she commanded.

"Okay, Mama."

The boy and girl walked until the laughter of the revelers faded into the distance and Lihua could only just make out the shapes of her parents' shadows dancing in the glow of the fire. The boy stopped in front of a tent. They were standing in the abandoned marketplace.

He opened the flap at the entrance for her and Lihua ducked inside.

Walls of fabric covered in metal talismans and amulets surrounded her. Charms made of crystal and beads hung from the ceiling on cords of leather and twine. The boy lit a lamp and placed it on a wooden chest. The light caught the shining surface of each ornament and the tent gleamed in a warm, golden glow.

"What is this place?" Lihua whispered.

"This is Ariam's home," the boy replied. "He tells the story by the fire?"

"The man who told the story lives here?" She reiterated. "What are we doing here?"

"Ariam is my father," the boy said.

"Your… father," Lihua repeated skeptically.

Something must have been lost in translation. The boy in front of her was clearly a native of this town, whereas Ariam had dark skin and spoke in a thick, tripping accent. Maybe "father" meant something else in Shule.

The boy grinned at her confusion.

"Ah, we do not look alike, yes?" He asked. "Ariam take me as a son four years ago. No parents. I stay with Ariam. He look after me."

"Oh," Lihua said. She was not sure what else to say. It must have been terrible to live without protection in a place like this. It was nice of Ariam to have taken him in.

"I am Arśi," the boy said, touching his hand to his chest. "Your name is?"

"I'm Lihua," she said with a smile.

Arśi studied her face in the shadows cast by the lamp light. His blue eyes seemed to grow darker the longer he stared. There was something frightening and wonderful in those eyes.

"You were watching me at the market today," Lihua said. "Why?"

"Because you are special, I think, Lihua," Arśi replied. "I have a gift. I can tell when people are special."

"Special how?" Lihua asked suspiciously.

"You did not like Ariam's story, I think," Arśi ploughed on. He turned his back to her and knelt beside a leather-bound chest. Lihua watched as he pried apart the rusty, iron locks. "Tell me why?"

Lihua inched backwards unconsciously.

"I don't know," she answered. "I guess…He made it sound like it was a _good_ thing. The angels giving the power of the gods to men. But what if they didn't ask for them? What if they didn't want them?"

Arśi chuckled and shoved the lid of the box open with a creak.

"The powers of the gods," he mused. "Who would not want such a gift?"

Lihua could not think of a reply. It seemed silly. It was just a story. But it made her feel horribly sad, trapped, and alone.

"I have a gift for you, Lihua," Arśi said. "Something I think you will want very much."

From the depths of the trunk, the boy produced a gleaming, blue crystal cracked with black lines. As he extended it toward her, Lihua felt as if a hand of ice had settled over her heart.

"I don't want it," she whispered.

"It's a gift," he insisted. "Take it."

His eyes settled on her, burning with fires that gave no light. She found herself entranced, extending her hand to receive the unwanted present.

The cool crystal froze the skin of her palm and she watched in mute horror as a creeping film of living rock crawled up her arm and covered her flesh.

"Papa!" She screamed.

* * *

"She didn't want to take it," a voice murmured.

"But you convinced her, obviously," a deep whisper answered.

Lihua opened her eyes and tried to focus. The tent swam in her vision, a jumble of lights, shadows and reflections. Every bone in her body was shaking. Her tunic was soaked in cold sweat. The ground seemed to vibrate beneath her.

The men felt it too. They watched as a mirror tremored off of its wooden base and shattered on the ground. The taller of the two, Ariam, knelt down next to Lihua and took her face in his hand.

"It's alright, little one," he said. "Calm down."

The quaking stopped.

Lihua jerked away from Ariam.

"What have you done to me?" She screamed. "Who are you?"

Ariam smiled.

"I am just a servant," he replied. "I serve he that was and that is to come."

"What are you talking about?" Lihua demanded.

"He has many names: Alveus, Kypséli, Saraş," Ariam continued. "He was once a god among gods. Humans feared his power, so he was exiled to a foreign world. In his absence, his servants still make gods out of humans that are worthy of his rule. When he returns, he will take you into his fold. And you will find peace."

His voice felt like warm honey to her, sweet and soothing. But there was something cruel behind in his words. Something hidden and wicked.

"I don't know what you mean," Lihua stammered. "I want to go back to my parents!"

Ariam's laughter started low, then filled the tent with joyless bravado. Lihua looked over at the boy. Arśi shrunk to the side of the large man. Her wide eyes pleaded with him silently, but he looked away, cheeks reddening.

"Oh child," Ariam said at last. "Do you think they would want you now? How could they understand your power? Arśi can tell you. What do you think his parents did when he received his gift? When he started hearing voices? Seeing gods walking among men?"

Lihua glanced over at the boy, but his gaze was trained stubbornly on the ground.

"Only I could help him control his power," Ariam concluded. "Only I can understand yours."

The earth began to tremble again and Lihua looked around her in despair.

"Lihua? Li!" Mai-Lin's voice sounded panicked, even through the thick fabric of the tent.

"Mama!" Lihua shouted.

Mai-Lin tore at the cloth of the tent's door and stumbled inside, Tian following on her heels. Lihua ran into her mother's arms and buried her face in her chest.

"What are you doing in here, Li?" Tian asked. "We've been looking everywhere! We need to get outside. There's an earthquake—

"It's me!" Lihua wailed. "I'm doing it! I can't stop it. I can't make it stop… Please, don't leave me!"

Mai-Lin took her chin in her hand.

"What are you talking about?"

"She speaks the truth, woman," Ariam broke in. "She carries a great gift."

"What did you do to her?" Mai-Lin growled.

"I only helped her become who she was meant to be."

Tian was on top of the man before Lihua knew what was happening. He grabbed Ariam's robes at the collar, his hands balled into fists.

"Change her back!" He snarled.

"I cannot," Ariam said. "The change, the Terrigenesis, is forever. Your daughter is gone. Forget her. Return to your home and mourn her loss. She will be safe with me."

Tian turned away from the old mystic to face his wife and daughter. He grabbed Lihua's hand.

"We're going, now," he stated.

A guttural yell came from behind them and Lihua looked over her shoulder to see Ariam lunging towards her father with a knife clutched in his grasp.

"No!" Lihua yelled, extending her arm.

A powerful tremor vibrated from her core to the tips of her fingers. The air between her family and their attacker shimmered and twisted. Ariam was caught in the shockwave. His body slammed into an invisible wall of energy and fell in a heap against a tent pole.

Tian looked down at his daughter, aghast.

Lowering her arm, Lihua surveyed the damage with wide eyes, filled with tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

She gasped, pulled off balance as Mai-Lin hugged her to her chest.

"It's okay, bao bèi," she murmured. "We'll figure it out. Right?"

She shot her husband a pointed look.

Tian nodded, his mouth still open in shock.

"Right," he managed. "But for now, we really need to get out of here."

He held the tent flap aside and led his wife and daughter out of the dark into the cool desert night.

Arśi knelt next to the crumbled man on the ground and watched the family shrink to miniature silhouettes on the starry horizon.

"This isn't over, Lihua," he growled. "I'll see you again."

* * *

 **Author's Note: "Kypséli", "Saraş" are Greek and Hebrew approximate transliterations of "Hive" or "swarm." "Alveus" was mentioned by Coulson as Latin for Hive in the show.**

 **Bao bèi= "Baby" (term of endearment) in Mandarin Chinese.**

 **(They probably would have been speaking another, much earlier, dialect, but my devotion to historical accuracy only extends so far.)**


	4. The Scholars, Part I

Constantinople (558 CE)

" _If you live long enough, you see the same eyes in different people." –Maz Kanata, The Force Awakens_

Sophia sat at her wooden desk facing an open window that offered a full view of the Sea of Propontis. The breeze that blew in and ruffled her red curls was warm and thick with salt. She took a breath and tried her hardest not to fidget. Stacks of carefully organized parchment, covered in her precise scrawl, littered the desk in front of her. She read and re-read the last sentence she had written four times.

It was no use. She could not concentrate.

 _He should be back by now._

She turned to stare at the door to her bedroom. The minutes ticked by and, at last, Sophia thought she heard the muffled slaps of leather boots on the tile outside of her room.

When three gentle taps came at the door, she nearly fell out of her chair.

"Come in!" She squeaked.

Isidore let himself in the room and turned back to the hallway.

"It'll just be a minute," he muttered to the party behind him. "I need to explain the situation to the physician before she sees you."

Before he closed the door, Sophia caught a glimpse of several pairs of eyes peeking into her bed-chamber with unguarded fascination.

"Izzi, how many people did you bring?" She greeted her brother.

"Just one," Isidore answered. "One patient. The other two are her parents."

"Who else was out there?" Sophia demanded.

"Hmmm?" He hummed, stalling. "Oh, just Procopius."

Sophia cut her eyes at him and scoffed.

"Don't be so harsh, Sophie," Isidore admonished. "He's my friend. He helped me convince this family to come and see you."

A shudder went up Sophia's spine that she could not hide.

"I don't like him," she said.

"You've made that very clear," Isidore replied. "What you haven't told me is why."

Sophia did not have a rebuttal to that.

Procopius, the tall, blue-eyed royal historian, gave her an uneasy feeling. His gaze always lingered on her longer than propriety dictated. There was something predatory in those eyes, something duplicitous. But it would do no good to divulge her reservations about the man to her brother.

Isidore was an engineer and architect, a _mechanikoi_. He barely considered Sophia's forays into medicine a true scientific pursuit. Even gathering patients as a study group for her treatise went far beyond his customary support of her chosen field of study. It would not help her case to speak of the ill-feeling she had whenever Procopius was around her. She did not need another lecture on the scientific inadequacy of personal intuition without facts.

"What are the patient's symptoms?" She asked him, changing the subject.

"There are none that are visible," Isidore confessed. "And she insists that she will only speak of her condition to a physician."

Sophia crossed her arms.

"Izzi! The point of this study is to ascertain how illness passes from one patient to a healthy individual—

"Yes, I've heard it, Soph! Ill-vapors, invisible organisms, tiny creatures that travel on the air from one patient to another…"

"I never said 'tiny creatures!'"

"Well, it's what you mean, isn't it?" Isidore goaded. "Not that you'll be able to prove any of it."

"Then why are you helping me?"

"One of us might as well be working! Since the emperor won't supply the funds to have his precious church repaired."

"Oh, Izzi…" Sophia sighed.

"She says she's 'cursed,'" Isidore continued, as if the outburst hadn't occurred. "The patient, she's a girl from a tiny farming village in Cappadokia. Poor thing looks like she hasn't had a good meal in weeks. It must have cost her parents everything they had to make the journey here."

"Why come here?" she asked. "Why not find a local physician?"

"Because she believes she was cursed by God," Isidore answered. "What better place to pray for his forgiveness than in the greatest church in the empire?"

Her smile of reply was touched with ironic sympathy. She knew of the love-hate relationship her brother had with the church of Hagia Sophia.

Ever since an earthquake last year had opened a crack in the dome, Isidore had implored the emperor to commission him to redesign it. So far, all of his pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

"Why come to a physician now?" Sophia asked.

"I suspect it's because your services are free," Isidore said with a grin. "Besides, it's not every day a family of peasants are invited to be examined by an _iatros_ in the royal palace. I _did_ have to convince them several times that you were not just a midwife."

Sophia rolled her eyes.

"I suppose that's all they know of women doctors out there in the desert."

Isidore crossed the space between them and put his hands on her shoulders.

"I don't know that this girl will help with your study, Sophie," he admitted. "But I think you can help her. There's something about her. It's not just an illness. I don't know what's wrong with her, but she and her family left the only home they knew because they believed she was… damaged. She needs someone to reassure her, to let her know that, whatever is going on, she can get better."

Sophia shrunk into herself. She had rarely seen Isidore this forthright about anything or anyone. She felt herself nod and he released his grip on her arms.

When he crossed the room to open the door, she called after him.

"Isidore?" she asked. "Why do you care so much? What's so special about this girl?"

She watched him hesitate before he turned back to face her.

"She seems… lost," he answered. "She looks like you did when I first met you."

* * *

Sophia felt out-of-place in her own bedchambers with five pairs of eyes watching her expectantly. Procopius broke the uneasy silence by stepping forward and greeting her with a short bow and a smug leer.

"Sophia," he said. "Always a pleasure."

"Procopius," she acknowledged perfunctorily.

"Isidore and I were doing some further surveillance to the interior of the dome, when we ran into this family," Procopius narrated. "We spoke of your skills in the healing arts, and believe that you may be of some assistance to this lovely young lady."

From her stance between her mother and father, the girl's head jerked up at being referred to as "lovely." Sophia had to admit, apart from her dusty and tired appearance, Procopius was not wrong. The girl's dark hair was shot with shades of red and complimented her olive complexion beautifully. The large green eyes that she shared with her mother were wide and alert as she took in the ornate décor of Sophia's living space.

She watched as the girl's gaze darted from the sumptuous gold and red drapes that hung in folds around her bed, to the collection of gold-flecked ikons that adorned the white-washed walls, finally settling on a particularly gruesome depiction on the mosaic-tiled floor. The girl studied the tesserae forming the image of a horned griffin with a rabbit caught in its fanged mouth. Sophia watched the girl's shoulders tremble in an involuntary shudder.

She smiled in what she hoped was a welcoming gesture.

"You don't like my griffin?" She asked. "Don't worry. I hate it too. It was not my first choice of room. But beggars can't be choosers, I guess…

The girl's brow furrowed in confusion, but Sophia interrupted her before she could ask for an explanation.

"My name is Sophia," she said. "What's yours?"

"Zoe," the girl whispered.

"Well, Zoe. Isidore tells me that you were at the church today because you were seeking a cure for your… infirmity. Can you tell me a little more about that?"

The girl balked and looked toward her mother, who nodded solemnly.

"It's not an 'infirmity,'" she corrected at last. "I was cursed."

Sophia's eyebrows knitted together and she opened her mouth to protest.

"It's true, Miss," Her father broke in. "There's no other explanation for what has happened to my daughter."

The man turned to face Zoe with kind eyes.

"Go ahead, Zoe," he said. "You can show her."

The girl looked at the floor, but not quickly enough for Sophia to notice that her cheeks were wet with tears. She was about to request that the others leave so she could examine her patient in private when the floor began to shake.

"Earthquake!" Isidore shouted. He crossed the room and grabbed Sophia by the arm, pulling her to the safety of the door-frame.

Sophia resisted. Something was not right.

Rolls of parchment and glass instruments clattered off of her desk and fell to the floor, but outside the window, the sea was calm. The tremor was centered inside the room.

"Isidore," she cried. "I don't think it's an earthquake. I think it's…"

"Her," Procopius finished her thought.

Sophia shot an incredulous look at the historian, but as she followed his line of sight back to Zoe and saw the look of terror and resignation on her face, she knew he was right.

As quickly as it started, the quake subsided.

The only sound that prevailed in the vacuum of silence that followed was Zoe's wail as she collapsed to the floor, burying her face in her hands. But the display of anguish from her patient did not disturb Sophia as much as the shadow that crept into Procopius's eyes as he watched. She recognized the undisguised hunger in that stare and she felt sick to her stomach.

"Everyone out!" She shouted.

"Except you, Zoe," she continued, more quietly. "I want to talk to you alone."

* * *

 **Hey all! Sorry about the break between updates, real life and all that. (Plus... start of the 4th season! Wooo!)**

 **I hope that it's obvious who everyone "is" in this current incarnation, but let me know if it's not.**

 **Thanks so much for reading!**


	5. The Scholars, Part II

**So apparently, we have to wait another two weeks to find out what happens on Agents of Shield.** **I don't think I'm spoiling anything when I say, "AGH!"**

 **Anyway, here's something to pass the time in the interim...**

 **In which we find out the origin of Zoe's "curse" and learn a little more of Sophia's past:**

* * *

"Does it hurt when I do this?"

Zoe shook her head as Sophia probed her belly.

The physician sighed. The girl had not said a word since Sophia commanded her parents, Isidore and Proclus to wait outside while she examined her in private.

"You won't find anything," Zoe muttered at last. "There's nothing wrong with me that you can see. I used to get bruises on my hands and arms when I tried to hold it in, but… After a while I stopped trying. It doesn't work anyway."

Sophia frowned.

"This…" She fumbled, trying to find the right word. "The shaking. Does it just happen? Your father told you to 'show' me and you did. Does that mean you can control it?"

Zoe shook her head.

"Not really. It just happens when I get upset. Mother and father try to help to keep me calm, but it doesn't always work."

Sophia sighed.

This was the last time she sent Izzi to help her with her work. He was supposed to bring her subjects to analyze for her study regarding the transmission of illnesses from one subject to another. Instead, he brought back a young woman cursed with an unknown affliction that Sophia had no idea how to treat.

Isidore was right about one thing though.

Zoe was lost.

Sophia understood why he wanted to help her. It would help to learn how she had been "cursed" to begin with.

"Zoe—

"Before, you said—

The women looked at each other and chuckled.

"Go on," Sophia acquiesced, letting Zoe speak first. Might as well have her feel comfortable before she had to begin her own interrogation.

"Earlier," Zoe said. "When you were talking about your room, you said 'beggars can't be choosers.' What did you mean? I mean, you live at the palace. Aren't you… I mean, isn't everyone who lives here royalty?"

Sophia smiled tightly as she ran her fingers down the sides of her patient's neck, checking for signs of inflammation.

"Not everyone," she said.

"Is it just your husband then?"

"Husband?" she asked, confused.

"Isidore," Zoe clarified. "Did you marry into the royal family?

Sophia laughed and felt heat rise to her cheeks.

"Izzi's not my husband!"

"Oh," Zoe backtracked. "I just thought, I mean, you two seem so close—

"He's my brother," Sophia interrupted. "You can get dressed now."

Zoe turned around and slowly put her smock over her head. As she watched the girl's awkward, self-conscious movements, Sophia felt a flash of remorse at her own abruptness.

"He's my adopted brother," she offered. "Or maybe I should say I'm his adopted sister."

Zoe freed the last strands of her hair from the collar of her dirty shift and resumed her seat on the bed, rapt with attention.

"Isidore was raised by his uncle," Sophia began. "He was one of the _mechanikoi_ who built Hagia Sophia."

"His uncle _built_ that church?" Zoe repeated.

Sophia smiled at her astonishment.

"Technically, he designed it," she said. "My father was one of the chief builders of the church. Izzi and I were just children when construction started. We were playmates. One year into construction there was… an accident. My father fell from some scaffolding. He was killed."

"I'm so sorry," Zoe murmured.

"So was I," Sophia agreed with a sad smile. "But I was lucky. My father was the only family I had. If it weren't for Izzi, I'd have been on my own and homeless. But Izzi insisted that I come live with him and his uncle. Since he felt at least partially responsible for my father's death, his uncle agreed."

"And you came to live in the palace?"

Sophia nodded.

"His uncle was a royal architect, after all. Izzi followed in his footsteps. As for me, I wanted to learn a trade to make something of myself. So I wouldn't have to rely on anyone else should the worst happen again."

"I don't think Isidore would let anything happen to you," Zoe said, unsuccessfully trying to conceal a grin.

"Well, I guess we are both lucky," Sophia said, changing tactics. "I have Izzi and you have your parents. They seem very supportive of you. A lot of people may not have been as… understanding."

Tears welled up in Zoe's eyes.

"They shouldn't be," she whispered. "It's my fault."

A percussive knocking filled the room as the wooden ikons that decorated Sophia's walls began to shake.

"Zoe," she said soothingly. "Relax. Nothing is going to hurt you here. No one is angry with you. I just need to know what happened so I can help."

The girl took a deep breath and the tremoring stopped.

"There," Sophia assured her, with a confidence she did not feel. "Whenever you're ready…"

"Where my family lives," Zoe began. "There are rumors, you hear about them all the time, but I never really thought I would… I thought it they were just a myth,"

"Who was just a myth?" Sophia asked.

"The Manicheans," Zoe confided in a whisper, as if she were afraid she may be overheard.

"The Manicheans?" Sophia repeated. "You mean the heretics?"

Zoe nodded, eyes wide.

"They worship the devil and they have these horrible rituals. Some people say that they sacrifice children," she continued.

Sophia knew that part wasn't _strictly_ true, but it probably wasn't far from the mark. All sorts of wild stories had been spread about the Manichean cult for years. They had been driven out of the capital. But out in the backwater towns that Zoe came from, they could still very well be at large and spreading their heresy.

"Did _they_ curse you Zoe?

"I wasn't supposed to go up into the hills," she continued. "I should have gone straight home. But I saw something shining in one of the caves. I climbed in to see what it was. On the inside, the cave looked like a shrine or a chapel… but not like any I had ever seen before. The walls were covered with paintings of angels, but they were all falling from heaven. Blue angels falling from the sky."

"Blue angels?" Sophia asked.

Zoe shrugged.

"I had never seen anything like it either," she said. "There was a stone altar at the back of the cave and sitting in the middle of it was a bunch of blue crystals, sparkling in the light from the sun as it set. It was the crystals I saw shining in the cave from the trail. I reached over to touch one of the crystals and…I changed.

"It wasn't the Manicheans that cursed me, Sophia," Zoe cried. "It was God. I was in that horrible place and I shouldn't have been and He punished me for it! I deserve it! But my parents doesn't deserve it! It wasn't their fault."

Sophia tried to ignore the rattling of the furniture and the crack of splintering glass, as she hugged Zoe to her chest and whispered in her ear.

"It's alright, it's alright," she repeated. "It's not your fault, Zoe. It will be okay. Zoe, I don't know what happened to you, but I know it wasn't God."

The tremors stopped abruptly and Zoe looked up at her in amazement.

"What do you mean?"

"God doesn't punish people for being curious, Zoe," Sophia said. "If He did, I would have been cursed long before you."

"But, I shouldn't have been there…"

"You didn't build that shrine, did you?" She asked, rhetorically.

Zoe shook her head, with a trace of a smile.

Sophia sighed and brushed a strand of hair back from the girl's face.

"I think the crystal itself caused this condition. I've never heard of it happening before, but it seems like the most likely vector for transmission of this illness. I don't know what this is, Zoe," she admitted. "And I can't fix something I don't understand."

Zoe's face fell, but she nodded. She probably had not expected anything more.

"I have something that may help, though."

She pushed herself off of the bed and plucked a glass vial from a cabinet filled with various powders and tinctures. Zoe eyed the mixture of brown and grey dust that filled the vial with suspicion as Sophia pushed it into her palm.

"What is it?"

"It's a mixture of barks and mushrooms that will keep you relaxed," Sophia explained. "Next time you feel upset or nervous, take a swallow of this and it should help. Don't take too much, though. It can make you sleepy."

Zoe nodded again and tucked the flacon into a pocket in her shift.

"Thank you, Sophia," she said. "For listening too. And for what you said. I hope you're right."

"Of course, I'm right!" Sophia said brightly. "I'm a doctor."

Zoe grinned and slid off of the bed.

"One more thing, Zoe," Sophia added. "How much longer are you and your family planning to stay?"

"I'm not sure. A few more days?"

Sophia sighed.

"Alright, just… be careful. I think Procopius may have taken a fancy to you."

Zoe grinned.

"What's wrong with that?" She asked. "He's very handsome."

"He is," Sophia agreed. "And he's very clever and persuasive. Just, look after yourself around him, alright?"

"Alright, Sophia."

While her face was the picture of sincerity, there was a sing-songy lilt to her voice that Sophia knew meant she had not taken her warning seriously.

As Zoe thanked her again and closed the door behind her, Sophia made up her mind. She had to keep an eye on that girl. Her "curse" would be the least of her worries if Procopius had anything to do with her. Of that much, Sophia was certain.

* * *

 **Historical Note: The Manicheans were a real religious cult that would have been in hiding in the Byzantine Empire. While they were not actually "devil-worshipers," the Christians of the 6th century would have believed that they were just as bad if they were. By this time, "Manichean" was a by-word for any cult which practiced a faith that fell outside of orthodox Christianity.**

 **Thanks for reading guys! Up next, we find out what Procopius is up to and what he has planned for Zoe...**


	6. The Scholars, Part III

Zoe and her family were not hard to track, even through the busy, dusty streets of Constantinople. Having spent their entire lives among the pastoral hills of Cappadokia, they were understandably overwhelmed and amazed at all of the wonders the capital had to offer.

Sophia followed them at a safe distance, her face obscured by a translucent veil, and watched as the family wove inexpertly through crowds of merchants, monks, palace officials and prostitutes, stopping every few minutes to gawk at some new-found monument or vendor. Though Zoe denied it, Sophia wondered if the girl did have more capacity to control her so-called "curse" than she believed. She was immersed in a new world teeming with unknown sights, sounds and smells, completely out of her element, and Sophia had not felt one tremor. There was some level of mastery there, whether Zoe realized it or not.

The question was, if she could control this power she was given, how would she use it?

Better to stop the problem entirely, Sophia reasoned.

But there could be no cure without a known illness. She just hoped Zoe followed her advice and took the tincture she gave her next time the quakes threatened to overpower her. There was enough valerian root and _bolos_ mushroom in that vial to make a full-grown man sleep for a week. A small dose should, theoretically, take the edge off of any anxiety the girl was feeling.

After an hour of tailing the family as they wandered through the Forum of Constantine and headed towards the Acropolis, Sophia began to wonder if they were lost. She was considering returning to the Palace and returning to find them again later when Zoe's mother halted in front of the Monastery of St. Cyprian and the other two followed suit. They must have found lodgings in the monastery guesthouse. Zoe moved to follow her parents through the foregate, when she was stopped by a figure dressed in red and blue silks.

 _Procopius_.

Sophia's eyes narrowed as she watched Zoe indicate to her mother and father that she would follow them in a moment. From her vantage point behind a spice merchant's stall, Sophia could not hear their conversation, but she did not dare move closer for fear of being recognized.

Procopius laid a hand on Zoe's shoulder and she laughed at something he said.

Whatever his game was, Zoe was falling for it. Sophia felt no satisfaction at being proven right about her suspicions about him.

"What are you after, Procopius?" She whispered to herself.

"I might ask you the same thing," came an unexpected reply.

"Izzi!" Sophia yelped.

"What are you doing, Sophie?" Isidore asked, reproachfully.

Sophia grabbed her brother by his tunic and forced him into a crouch behind her.

"Hey!" He shouted surprise.

"Were you following me?" She demanded.

"It wasn't hard," he scoffed. "You'd make a terrible spy."

Sophia ignored him.

"What do you think he's going to do to her?" Isidore asked. "I know he likes to play the rogue, but he's all talk. Procopius is harmless, Soph."

"Harmless? Really?" Sophia hissed. "Then why is he courting a girl _her_ age?"

"She's only a few years younger than you, Sophie," Isidore argued.

"She's a child," Sophia snapped. "With an ability to shake a building to its foundations. You'll excuse me if I don't trust Procopius with that kind of power."

"What do you think he'll do?" Isidore asked.

Sophia did not answer. She leaned around the stand and tried to make out their conversation by reading Procopius's lips.

"The Church," she muttered aloud. "Something about 'tonight.'"

"Right, that's it," Isidore announced, taking her by the arm. "We're going."

"Izzi!"

"Now!" Isidore said. He pulled her to her feet and marched her in the direction of the palace.

"Procopius is my friend," he continued. "I trust him. That should be good enough for you."

"And what about me, Iz?" Sophia challenged him. "What am I? Don't you trust me? Can't you trust me when I tell you that something is not right?"

Isidore let go of her arm and faced her down in the middle of the crowded street. She could tell he was faltering and willed herself not to drop her gaze.

"I can't, Sophia," he said finally. "Not until I see proof."

She did not talk to him for the rest of the walk back.

* * *

As the sunset turned the blue waters of the Propontis a dusky pink, Sophia plotted her escape. Isidore had told her in no uncertain terms that she was not to follow Zoe and Procopius to the church that night, but she could not in good conscious sit alone in her chambers wondering what it was Procopius had planned for the girl.

She was in the process of concealing her auburn hair beneath a woolen shawl when a knock came at her door.

"Go away, Izzi," she called.

She was in no mood for a conciliatory lecture.

"It's important, Sophia," he answered.

 _Sophia_.

He never called her by her proper name.

She sighed heavily.

"Come in."

Isidore's face was pantomime of conflict. His mouth was drawn into a tight frown and his brow furrowed.

"What is it?" Sophia asked, genuinely concerned.

"Proof," he said shortly.

From beneath his tunic, Isidore produced a bundle of parchment. With dramatic flair, he slapped the manuscript on her desk, so that the title was in plain view.

 _The Secret History, by Procopius of Caesarea_

"Looks like you were right, Sophie."

* * *

 **Next up: Showdown at Hagia Sophia!**


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